There Was Me, There Was You
by smallboxes
Summary: After taking a long swig, Pete could feel his buzz start to come back. Maybe it wasn’t the wisest idea to mix the Jell-O shots from earlier and cheap beer, but hey, what did he care? He was 30 without the responsibility of being 30. slash


"Peeeeeeeete, why doesn't she love me?"

"Okay, I've had enough," Sharon said, rolling her eyes. It was the fifth time Berg had asked that question and she was done. She got up from the couch and tossed her empty beer bottle into the trash where it made a satisfying clink. Pete's eyebrows rose and he nodded appreciatively.

"Nice."

"Thanks. Happy birthday Pete," Sharon added sarcastically, snarky smile playing at her lips. He returned it with an eye roll and she left the room, door slamming behind her as she made her way to her own apartment.

Their apartment, for the moment, was strewn with the remnants of a great party: empty cups, trash, party poppers, streamers, and balloons. Pete was not looking forward to cleaning it up, but it could wait. Right now, his best friend had had his heart practically pulled through a meat grinder before it was handed back to him. Needless to say, Berg was not taking it so well and Pete watched as Berg wobbled off the couch and stumbled his way toward the refrigerator.

"Berg, come on. No more beer," Pete said, eying the five bottles that had been all but funneled down Berg's throat after everybody had left and it was just the three of them. But now Sharon was gone and Berg was coming back to the couch with three cold bottles in his hands.

"Pete. Pete. Pete…drink." Berg shoved a bottle into Pete's hand. He started to twist off the cap after Berg continued. "Pete, why doesn't she love me?"

After taking a long swig, Pete could feel his buzz start to come back. Maybe it wasn't the wisest idea to mix the Jell-O shots from earlier and cheap beer, but hey, what did he care? He was 30 without the responsibility of being 30. And with that thought in mind, he took another gulp and answered Berg.

"I don't know Berg, I don't know. Screw her."

"I want to! I want to, but she said no."

"No what?"

"What?"

"What?"

Berg got the giggles and it was contagious enough that they were belly laughing as their shoulders crashed, supporting each other as they leaned back on the sofa. Their laughter started to taper off and then the silence of the room enveloped them until it was just the sound of their breathing and the sound of Pete taking a long drink. Berg was already plastered with rosy cheeks and warm skin that Pete could feel through the ratty terry cloth of the Party Robe he was wearing.

"You're too good for her man," Pete said, attempting to get back to whatever conversation they were having before.

"Hmm?"

"I mean it. If Bethany can't see that, then…whatever, man. You don't need her anyway."

Berg took another swallow out of his bottle and looked like he was mulling over Pete's words. Pete drained the last of his beer and let the bottle join the others on the coffee table. He settled comfortably back onto the couch and had a fleeting thought about his presentation the next day (or rather…today) and how much that was going to suck with a hangover.

As if Berg was reading his mind, he put his hand on Pete's knee and angled his head up. "You're a good friend Pete. Real good."

Pete wanted to say thanks; the word itself was on the tip of his tongue, but it was stuck somehow. He didn't know if it was directly related to the fact that Berg's hand was still lingering on his knee. In that moment though, everything felt rushed. The liquor in his belly took the express train to his head and the heady swirl of being drunk overcame him, fast and steady. He wasn't like Berg though, who was so far gone that his eyes were having trouble staying open. No, he was still aware of the moment and the fact that Berg's hand still hadn't moved and, oh my god, was Berg's head moving closer? They used to play this game at parties sometimes, a few years ago, to see who would break first. Usually, it was Pete but sometimes Berg would duck out and then he'd buy the next round, which was how the game ended and it's supposed to be just a fun party gag. But this particular party has dwindled down to just the two of them; Pete's grappling for reasons to pull away but he can't think of any, any at _all_ before Berg's lips touched his own.

Shock ran through him before an actual response did. Pete was too weirded out, too surprised to actually do anything but then Berg took the reins like he always does. He started kissing Pete's bottom lip so that Pete goes for the top and it's _weird_ you know? But not so weird that it stops Pete from responding. Not so weird that Pete doesn't quash the voice in his head that's telling him how much he wants this. It's the same voice he'd been ignoring since sophomore year of college, but evidently, everything is floating to the surface. He's drunk enough to be okay with that, for now.

The more he lets Berg kiss him, the less strange it becomes. This feeling bubbling in the pit of his stomach is transitioning from weird to desire and Pete has enough alcohol in his system that he's not overanalyzing every little thing (he's not "Pete-ing out", as Sharon liked to say). Which is a good thing because Berg's hand slid into the inside of his robe and takes hold of his hip where there's nothing but naked skin and the waistband of his boxers. Berg pulled him closer while Pete wrapped his arms tighter around Berg's back; they slowly sink from being vertical to horizontal, stretching out on the gray couch as the fabric from the Party Robe falls more to the wayside.

He doesn't know what Berg's thinking or really what he's thinking past "want, need, _now_". They take a sec to grab some air and then Berg is moving, hovering over his chest before licking a broad stripe and using his teeth to lightly scrape over the outline of his collarbone. Pete bit his bottom lip and concentrated on pulling Berg's shirt off without completely losing it. He goes to reach for the belt buckle, but Berg keeps moving back up toward Pete's neck.

It occurred to Pete then that eventually they would have to talk about this. Somewhere, the thought trickled to the front of his head that if there was any salvation for this friendship, a talk would need to be had. It doesn't take long for words to start tumbling out.

"Berg," Pete starts, voice low as his head instinctively falls to the side to give Berg more access (a little counterproductive, his brain says and Pete ignores). "Hey, Berg."

"Mmm?" The syllable vibrates under his ear and Pete hopes the shakiness in his breath isn't wholly obvious.

"What're we doing?"

Berg stopped what he was doing and Pete could practically feel the silence drape down upon them like a blanket that mingled with Berg's hot breath against his skin. Berg looked up then, his eyes so enveloped in lust as they searched Pete's. He responded with a shoulder shrug.

"All right, good enough," Pete decided before shifting up for another kiss. He could feel Berg's smile as their tongues slipped into a now familiar twist. Talk was cheap, right? They'd figure it out later or maybe their hangovers would be so killer that they wouldn't want to talk about it. That's what the rational part of Pete's brain was trying to think through the haze of inebriation and questionable judgment.

But the rational part shut up once it realized Berg was moving, down, down, down until he was resting on his haunches and his fingers were sliding under the elastic waistband of Pete's dark blue boxers. Berg approaches his cock with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, but it still manages to be one of the best blow jobs Pete's ever gotten.

And that's how it all began.

--

They don't talk about it the next day or the day after that. Epic hangovers aside, Pete was busy with his internship and Berg was busy with his shenanigans, so who has the time, really? Sharon starts to suspect something, but Berg has always been really good at diversions; Pete just follows his lead and a week later, it blows over. Sharon gets interested in a guy she works with and the invisible tension becomes a little less strained.

But when Pete dumps Melissa two weeks later, it leads to another sad, alcohol fueled hook up and they can't ignore that it's happened twice now. It starts to happen whenever it doesn't work out with whomever they're dating until finally, three months after the initial incident, Pete kisses Berg when they're both completely sober and Berg lets him.

"Is this…is this okay?"

"Is this _okay_?" Berg asks, happy lilt in his voice. He's backed up against the refrigerator and Pete's so close that he can barely make out the features in Berg's face. "We're a little past the point, don'tcha think?"

--

It's a good summer, after that.

Long, lazy days stretched out, one after the other. Pete thought it would've been hard to keep it a secret, but it's not, not really. There are a couple of close calls with Sharon.

"Whatcha guys doing?"

"Nothing," answered simultaneously and Pete tries not to wince noticeably when she takes a closer look at him.

"Pete…is that a hickey?"

As quickly as possible, Pete's hand flew up to his neck and the contact made a dull slap; Sharon's eyes grew wide and she knew she had him.

"It is! God Pete, a hickey? Where'd you get it from, tenth grade?"

"Sharon, don't be silly. He burned himself with a curling iron," Berg replied, cocky grin spreading as Sharon laughed and helped herself to the juice in the fridge. Pete shot him a look and motioned his hand across his neck to get Berg to knock it off. Unfortunately, Berg chose to ignore it.

"Actually, he met someone when we went out last night," Berg continued, getting up from the couch to join Sharon in the kitchen.

"Oh, he did?"

"I did? I mean, yeah…I did," Pete answered weakly, unsure of where this was going.

"Who is she?" Sharon asked, taking a sip of her juice.

"Oh you know. Some tall blonde with gorgeous blue eyes," Berg answered and when Sharon's head was turned, Berg batted his eyes and smirked at Pete when he clenched his fist. Sharon turned back toward Pete and he changed the expression on his face not to be so menacing toward Berg.

"That's great Pete. I'm glad you're finally getting over Melissa, the bore that she was," Sharon said, taking another swig of her juice and then setting the glass in the sink. "So are you ready to go or what?"

"Go?" Pete asked and Berg shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, we agreed we'd go see a movie tonight. Come on, last one out gets the popcorn and I want the big bucket!"

--

"Maybe we should tell Sharon."

"Why would we do that?"

"I don't know…it'd be a lot easier, don't you think?"

"It's pretty easy right now. So she almost caught us, big deal."

"That's the _fifth_ time she's almost caught us. And it'd be a lot easier if you didn't get all Hoover on my neck."

"Does anybody even use a Hoover anymore? Pete, let's get one of those new robot vacuums."

"So not the point Berg."

"Pleeease?"

--

"So? What do you think?"

"Med school? You're serious about this?"

"Hey. Who's wearing the scrubs here?" Berg asked, using his arm to gesture over the blue fabric.

"I think the stethoscope is a little much," Pete replied.

"I am serious about this and you should take my stethoscope seriously too."

"Okay. I mean…if this is what you really want to do, then I support you man."

"Thanks Pete." Berg gave him smile, a real one, and something in Pete's chest tightened before he continued. "I can just see it now: Dr. Michael Bergen. Dr. Michael Bergen, saving lives."

"Dr. Michael Bergen, sleeping in his scrubs," Pete joked.

"Dr. Michael Bergen, making house calls."

"Dr. Berg, making booty calls."

"_That_ is not such a bad idea," Berg grinned before he jumped into the bed that Pete was currently stretched out on. Pete yelped in surprise before the bed settled with the two of them on it. "We could play naughty doctor and the fully insured patient. Hot stuff."

Pete laughed and they ended up gravitating toward each other, shifting on the mattress so that they made slow, easy contact when they started to kiss. Through the thin fabric of his pajama shirt, Pete felt the back of the cool stethoscope metal on his chest pressed between them and it made his heart skip a beat or two to think of Berg being a doctor, a kick ass doctor at that.

Like he was reading his mind, Berg slid the ear buds in and moved the oval tool under Pete's shirt. On instinct, Pete's breathing became deeper and more controlled. The stethoscope stayed put as Berg leaned in for another kiss and he pulled away a few minutes later, a look of awe in his eyes.

"Wow," he whispered.

"What?"

"Your heart was just…awesome."

"Thanks?"

Berg slid the stethoscope out from under Pete's shirt and put it under his own, over his own chest. He gave Pete the ear buds and Pete gingerly put them on, curious.

They kissed again and Pete heard it; the rhythmic beating that yes, medically was supposed to happen. But by changing intensity or movement or whatever, caused the heart to react differently and it hit Pete at once that he was controlling it, that he was the cause and there was a sense of euphoria to it that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Wow," he echoed back, understanding.

"Yeah."

--


End file.
